An Alien's Story
by Geriatric Yoda
Summary: You thought this day would never come, but it has! Yes, a FOURTH Alien's Story is up! Moe the soldier takes a visit to the Doctors, but what will be the consequences?
1. Drones V Soldiers

**An Alien's Story**

The xenomorph soldier stood bent over his kill, globs of glistening saliva dripping from it's jaws like congealed sewage from a broken pipe. A gigantic black hunter, it stood with the pride of a lion having caught the fastest wildebeest in the land.

            Having killed the human by a stab through the torso with it's razor-sharp tail, the alien would've licked it's lips had it's tongue not had had another mouth. Bending down even further, the alien prepared to sink it's teeth into the thin shell that was the human's skull and scoop out the –

            "Moe! Hey, _Moe_!" a voice shouted.

            Hissing indignantly, the xenomorph straightened up, turning to face the caller. "_What now…?_" he muttered while the smaller alien was still out of ear-shot, before sighing. "_Yes_, Jim?"

            When the drone finally reached the alien soldier, it bent over double, breathing heavily. "Hmm…? Oh, yeah," Jim mumbled, calming himself down. "Me and the resta the guys spotted a human Humvee patrolling the horizons…"

            "Yeah…so?" the soldier retorted scathingly, eyeing his meal as it didn't get any fresher. "Why don't you skitter off and tell the Queen that?"

            The drone swiped a clawed-hand through the air dismissively. "Aw, _right_! Like she don't know already! And do you hear any orders from her to go and get them for incubating…?"

            _If I humour him, he'll probably leave,_ the soldier thought bitterly. "_No_, Jim, I don't hear anything."

            "Well, don't that pretty much mean we can do what we want with 'em?" Jim the drone asked excitedly. "It _does_, you know," he added not a split-second later. "So me and the resta the guys are gonna go eat 'em…"

            "You see, Jim, that is what makes me a soldier and _you_ a worker-boy – I _know_ my responsibilities, _I_ only kill when need be. _You _don't on both accounts," Moe muttered darkly, hissing under his breath.

            "But I thought you _loved_ Meals on Wheels?" the drone asked innocently, before laughing hysterically at his own joke, alone. "You get it, Moe?_ Humvee_ – Meals on Wheels? You get it??"

            _Must remind self: Genocide is bad_. "Jim, that one is older than the stars…even the _humans_ have better jokes than that – and I can't understand what the hell they're saying!"

            At the soldier's mention of 'humans', the drone looked down at the corpse by Moe's feet. "Uhm…you gonna _eat_ that one, Moe?" it asked tentatively.

            The alien soldier examined the body as if for the first time, eyes wide if he damn-well _had_ any. "Why, sure, I guess so…"

            "Uh…_I'll_ have it if ye really don't want it, Moe," Jim the drone muttered hungrily, tongue lolling, globs of spittle splashing onto the floor.

            "Nah, it's okay, Jim, I'm sure I'll manage just fine on my own, thanks…haven't you got a Humvee to catch?"

            The drone tilted it's head sideways, confusion somehow etched upon it's blank banana-shaped head. "Oh, _right_!" Jim screeched, suddenly clicking. "Yeah, you're probably right…can't keep the resta the guys waiting, huh? After all…those human scum won't eat themselves, right?"

            "_Oh, I'll think you'll find that some of them do_…I mean, well don't let me keep you, Jim!"

            "Oh, okay…erm, was a _screamer_, Moe?" the drone asked, claws pointing at the corpse.

            "It went out pretty loud, yeah," Moe muttered nonchalantly.

            "Oh, _good_…makes all the blood rush to the head, doesn't it?"

            "I don't _know_," the soldier growled warningly. "I haven't had a chance to find _out_ yet…"

            "Right! I'll be off then!" the drone chittered, catching Moe's drift and retreating towards the exit of the Hive, quickly skittered out of sight.

            Sighing gratefully, the soldier xenomorph turned his attention back to his meal, saliva dropping steadily again. Okay, so it wasn't _fresh_ anymore…but it was _his_! Grabbing a huge napkin from the recesses of the Hive wall, Moe tied it delicately around his thin neck and flexed his claws. "_Bon apetite_…"


	2. Maintenance

**"Maintenance"**

As the drone scuttled through the many recesses of the alien hive, it listened intently for any notification of its next job…

"DAMMIT!"

And there it was, one angry outburst that meant yet another labouring task. Clicking its tongue with impatience, the drone scurried off towards the origin of the sound/ as it rounded the corner, its invisible ears picked-up more than it deemed necessary.

"Queendammed stupid, worthless piles of crap!" a voice, definitely a soldier's by the harshness of the tone, exclaimed in angry indignity. "Don't know why we haven't annihilated all of them already!"

"Human-trouble?" the drone sighed as it rounded the corner on the ranting soldier xenomorph. "Nothing a little mutilation can't fix…"

"Who said anything about _humans_?" the soldier gave a miffed tilt of his elongated head. "They're easily dealt with."

"Then what seems to be the problem…?"

"These damn Vending Machines!" the soldier hissed, batting its spiked tail against the illuminated cover of a drinks dispenser. "I finally managed to scavenge enough quarters from the corpses of Marines to get me a can of Diet Coke with Lemon, and what happens? This rusty retard goes and eats them!"

"Again?" the drone sighed as he pulled a toolbox out of a hole in the side of the hive wall. A badge melded onto his hardened black chest by his own acidic blood read: "My Name is Melvin, and I'm the Maintenance Drone on Duty Today." Tutting, Melvin set the tools on the floor, opening the box up. "Have you tried ripping the whole thing open?"

"No," the soldier muttered as it turned back to the drinks machine, flexing his claws eagerly. "Am I allowed to…?"

"No," Melvin replied curtly, "I just can't find the bloody keys…ah! Here they are!"

Unlocking the front of the drinks machine, Melvin examined the sales log. "Hmm, that's odd," he whispered as he double-checked the logs. "It registered your purchase _here_, see? And it says it dispensed a Diet Coke with Lemon…yep, there's one less in the rack. That can only mean that…er, did you actually put your claws down _there_ and pull the can out?" He pointed to the flap at the bottom of the machine.

"What?" the soldier alien stepped back in amazement. "The drinks come out of _there_? I thought that was where the thing crapped!"

"It's a _machine_, it's non-organic, it's not ali –"

"Uurrrp 'Scuse me!"

…

"Did that just come from the machine?" Melvin asked with disbelief.

"Yes," the soldier growled, crouching down on his haunches and shoving a clawed hand into the flap, where something squealed indignantly. "But it wasn't the machine…it's Hamish!"

"Ach! Cannae ye noo leave a doomed facehugger ta die happy?!" the little alien that was clutched in the soldier's hand bellowed with its tiny voice. "I dinnae have long ta live!"

"Hamish!" Melvin scolded hotly as he slammed his toolbox shut angrily. "That's where you ran off to! The Queen put us on alert for an AWOL facehugger, but I never _dreamed_ it would be you! Why aren't you incubating a carrier?"

"Ach, but I was, laddie!" the tiny thing squealed. "Or, at least I was _tryin'_ ta! I swear I was tryin' ta incubate a can o' Coke!"

"Liar!" the soldier snapped, squeezing the facehugger. "You were drinking my Diet Coke with Lemon…see?" it announced outraged as it retrieved the empty can. "Not a drop left!"

"Jus' makin' sure there was a'nuff space for that wee chest-burster, so I was!" the facehugger sqeaked, before belching loudly and cheering itself on.

"You're drunk!" Melvin accused. "Go and incubate a rat or something, before you put all xenomorphs to shame and make me not look where I'm treading!"

At this threat the facehugger leapt out of the soldier's grasp and scurried away to oblige, tail dragging in shame.

"And you owe me six quarters!" The soldier bellowed after it, before stomping off to relieve its anger on some unlucky Marine patrols.

Melvin sighed in sheer wonder, and reached for a can of Sprite…

"Melvin to Hive Corridor 3-1-3, please…Melvin to 3-1-3."

Now it was Melvin's turn to shout: "DAMMIT!"

**Interesting Alien Facts.**

****

1) Facehuggers have to incubate within 24-hours of hatching from their eggs.

2) Facehuggers can get drunk on carbonated water.

3) Some facehuggers prefer to die drunk than die incubating, which they refer to as "puking their guts up into some other poor sod."

4) Facehuggers particularly like Diet Coke with Lemon…well, _someone_ has to.


	3. GangstaX

**"Gansta-X**"

The alien soldier wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong, but somewhere, something didn't like him. He was on Patrol Duty, which was just another pompous name for "Be Targets for Marine Snipers so We Can Have Fresh Paint on the Hive." The xenomorph had never really known what he'd intended to do with his life, but he'd be dammed if it was to stand around and try and become a Bullet-time alien.

And as if _that_ wasn't bad enough, it was friggin' cold to boot…not that he _had_ any boots, though they'd be a welcome addition to the task. And as for gloves! Well, when they say "One Size Fits All," they obviously didn't take razor-sharp claws into consideration.

"_Humans_," the alien muttered darkly, summing-up all his hate into one multi-purpose word.

"Huh? Whassat? What was that, Moe my Man?"

And now, the soldier decided, the crap-end of the stick he had been given had just been shat on again by a diarrheic elephant for good measure. Muttering under his breath how he'd dearly love to have a magnet handy right now, the soldier turned to face the oncoming drone. "What is it now, Ji – what in the name of Titanium Dioxide do you think you look like, Jim!"

"You like it, brutha?" the drone purred in a vain effort to be cool as he stood before his superior in a purple fur coat, matching hat with a luminous green feather stuck in it and more chains then the local lavatories.

"_Like_ it? Jim, it looks like you when back in time and killed Huggy Bear for his clothes!" Moe moaned, bringing-up a clawed hand to shield him from the flare of the reflected sunlight that shone from the bling. "How the hell can you stand in all that crap?"

"Hey, this ain't no crap, fool!" the little drone snapped, reaching back to slap the burly soldier, only to be amply reminded that Moe had much more teeth. "Erm, what I mean, is that this may well look like crap to your uneducated eyes –"

"God, you're tripping if you think we all have _eyes_ now," the soldier groaned.

"– But this is really me, in all my glory."

"Jim, get this straight; you're a _drone_. Care for me to spell that out? D-R-O-O-N. That means you don't _ever_ get any glory." Moe muttered darkly, turning on his heels in a effort to walk away from the embarrassment. The clink-clink-clink close behind told him he was failing. "You know on those army posters our Queen made us advertise, the ones that say "The Hive Army: Crapping on the Little Guy?" Well, _you're_ that little guy."

"Ahh, now that is whack! I ain't no Little Guy…I'm a Bad Ass Mo Fro!" Jim retorted defiantly, "An' I got the threads to prove it, beeyatch!"

"What did you call me?" Moe hissed, spinning back around and bumping into the drone who, under all that metalwork, was like a walking chain-mail suit.

"Yeah, you heard me right, beee-yatch!" Jim snapped loudly, shaking hiss claws until they clicked.

"_What_ did _you_ just call _me_?" Moe managed to repeat, which was impressive as he had his jaws locked around Jim's head at this point.

"Hey, hey, hey! Don't be trippin', homie! Beeyatch, that means…well, it means you're my main man, fo' sure!"

"Why," Moe muttered reluctantly as he withdrew his fangs, "does it sound like you're just repeating whatever you've read? Or are you getting your, excuse me, 'Gansta Talk,' from somewhere else?"

"GTA, fool…GTA."

"San Andreas…?" the soldier asked wearily.

"Daaaaamn straight! Wass–"

"No! No 'wassup!' No 'wassup' _ever_, you hear me?" Moe yelled desperately, slamming his hands to where he reasoned his ears should be. "You say 'wassup,' and I swear I'll rip you a new one! What do you intend to do in that get-up, anyway?"

"This ain't no pouncy get-up, fool! This is my P-I-M-P threads, my nizzle!"

"Who and where are you – dear I say it – _pimping_?"

"Four words, brutha: lady xenos, desperate Marines."

"Banana-shaped brain feeling dirty," Moe shuddered, backing away from the awfully perverted drone. "Must escape…must…go…clean…mind! Yoga, Shiatsu – anything! Just get away from me!"

"It's all cool, man, it's cool…" Jim murmured in his camp gangster voice as the soldier retreated back into the Hive in double-quick time. "Hey! Just so you know, I was gonna cut you in on the game, man!"

"KEEP YOUR FILTHY HOBBY TO YOURSELF, YOU WHACKO!"

"Word…"

There came a pinging noise and Jim the drone stumbled backwards under the impact and surprise. "Man, who be busting caps at me! That ain't right, man!" cupping his hands to his jagged slobbering mouth, Jim turned towards the general direction of the shot and shouted. "Forget the can, cos I'm gonna open a whole damn _vat_ of whupass on the next fool that tries it on wit' me!"

The next shot ricocheted of his dollar-sign chain and nicked his nose, causing the drone to squeak and jump backwards even further.

"Hey, it's cool, man…I'm cool. You can have this turf for now, but when I come back, I'm bringing my homeboys with me, then you are screwed, fools!"

The third shot cut the glowing green feather in his purple cap in half.

"Okay, okay, I'm outta here! Daaaaymm!"


	4. Introducing:Doctor Mandible Lecture

The drone stood tall in the white lab coat it had managed to scavenge from a human scientist's corpse. Everything was ready now; he had a name, a uniform, even an office! All he needed now was a patient…

Luckily for him, there was always one xenomorph soldier or another that felt the need for a consultation and a heart-to-heart between the seemingly-endless hours of slaughter, kidnapping and incubating. Today, the first day of the drone's new occupation, was no exception. No sooner had he flipped the sign on the entrance to his makeshift office (a corridor of the Hive that had previously suffered a cave-in at one end) then a solider stomped in and threw his self onto the couch.

"I need to talk to you, Doc," he muttered in the tone usually adopted by those who had long fallen off the edge, and were now hanging onto it for dear life thanks to their jagged tail. "I…I think I'm going crazy!"

"Maybe you are, maybe you're not! Who's to say?" the doctor drone told him with a shrug as he pulled-up a chair beside his first patient. "But we'll get around to all that later…name?"

"Moe," the soldier alien mumbled as if he didn't believe himself.

"_Full_ name, please?"

"I don't really have a full name," Moe told him with a frown, "but my friends usually call me 'Moe, You Lazy Bum,' does that count?"

"That will do nicely, thank you," the doctor nodded sympathetically, writing down this piece of information as best he could with a pen in his clawed grip. "And, for the record, my name…is Doctor Mandible Lecture. Pleased to make your acquaintance, I assure you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Doctor," Moe sighed, thankful that, at last, someone was prepared to listen to him.

"No it's not," Doctor Lecture snapped curtly.

"It's not?" asked the confused soldier, his forehead wrinkling in the no-eyed alien equivalent of a human frown.

"No," the Doctor told him firmly, "you are not here to pleasure me _or_ yourself, are we quite clear on that? This is a consultation, not a whore's den…"

"Oh…"

"But I know a good place not far from here if that's…"

"No, no, a consultation is fine with me, Doctor," Moe interrupted hurriedly, fearing this may take a path he wasn't entirely prepared to travel down.

"Fine," murmured Doctor Lecture, scribbling down more notes. "Fine, so what appears to be the problem?"

"I'm seeing things," Moe muttered mysteriously, "weird, _alien_ things…"

"Well, we _are_ in fact aliens ourselves, so you may well just be seeing everyday events," the doctor drone told Moe with a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's entirely natural, believe me…"

"No, I mean _other_ weird, alien things…like shadowy figures that appear before my eyes before vanishing again a second later, then it comes back, then it goes, back, then it goes again, back, then it goes again, back…"

"Then it goes again?" Doctor Lecture asked with a resigned sigh.

But the xeno soldier shook his head, "No, that's when I walked away and came here…" it said simply.

"And you haven't seen or felt anything else since then?" the Doctor asked carefully, noting down the soldier's every reaction. "You haven't seen any flying elephants, little people that try and persuade you that burning the Hive down really is a good idea? No cats that grin at you before disappearing, leaving only their smiles behind which then turns into a banana which begs to be eaten? No six foot bipedal rabbits with faces like skulls that reveal the secrets of the world and how it will end? Have you ever seen a big-headed scarred living doll that yearns to be incarnated into human flesh? Do you think that none of this exists, and that we're all part of some complex computer programme? Do you believe that one of us is the key to the survival of our race in the upcoming war against the machines, and that to ensure their victory those selfsame machines send a ruthless killing robot back in time to kill the chosen leader of our race? Do you believe that there lives a horribly scarred and disfigured man that lives in your dreams but can only manifest himself when you think about him?"

The kind Doctor slowly ground to a halt, gasping for breath and whispering to his self that, "It would all be okay."

"Erm, no," Moe the xenomorph soldier answered simply in the silence that followed. "Why, have you?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, but I've totally exhausted my knowledge of human movie trivia," Doctor Mandible muttered with an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I got carried away…now, this shadowy figure, can you describe it?"

"It was…black and…_shadowy_, I guess," the soldier answered weakly. "Oh, I dunno, Doc! Any ideas what it could be?"

"Not yet, but I do believe just talking about it has helped you get it out of your system," the Doctor told him with a warm, fang-filled smile. "Do you _feel_ any better?"

"Actually…yeah, I do!" leaping up from the couch, the soldier gave a joyful whoop, performed a backflip and shook the surprised drone doctor's claw. "Thanks, Doc! I'll never forget this! That hallucination won't be bothering _me_ no more! Yippee!"

Paying the Doctor's fee of 1,000 credits (yes, theQueen was now paying her troops)Moe skipped and bounced out of the 'office' and round the corner, a figure winked into existence and stepped out of the shadows.

"Good work, Doctor Lecture, Sir," the Predator congratulated the alien, smiling evilly behind its mask. "You want me to start messing with his mind again?"

"Give it a day or two," the Doctor murmured as the soldier's rendition of 'Zip-pe-dee-do-dah' carried faintly through the corridors. Sharing the same evil smile as his odd partner, Doctor Mandible Lecture rubbed his claws together greedily. "The plan works, give it a week or so at this rate and you and I will be rich!"

"Mmmm," moaned the Predator happily, drool seeping from under its mask. "_Richness..._"

* * *

**AN:**

**Contrary to popular belief, Aliens and Predators _can_ make good allies as long as they share a common goal. And nothing says 'teamwork' like a million credits a month!**

**Also, in answer to Air of Mystery's question, xenomorph is the correct scientific name for the Alien's species.**


End file.
